Holidays with the Weavers

by Kit Morgan

  “I can think of quite a few things,” she said. “But what I need and what your larder needs may be two different things.”

  “It must be frustrating for you,” Samijo said. “Not being able to remember what’s happened to you.”

  “It was at first. But I’m getting used to taking it day by day and making new memories. I think it’s best to let go of my past for now, whatever it may be.”

  Samijo gasped. “Olivia, don’t say such things. For all you know …”

  Olivia looked her in the eye. “My past was wonderful? Somehow I don’t think it was.”

  Samijo pressed her lips together, reminding Olivia of Bella’s earlier “slip”. So the Weavers did know something she didn’t. But none of them were keen to tell her.

  Well, she was keen to know. And if they weren’t going to come out with it … “Samijo?”

  “Yes?”

  Olivia gave her a determined look. “What was I like before?”

  Samijo’s eyes widened slightly, like she was trying to keep a straight face and failing.

  “You knew me before, didn’t you? What was I like then?”

  Samijo quickly glanced around, probably looking for Arlan. Or an escape route.

  “Well?”

  Samijo faced her again, swallowed once, twice. “Olivia, you were … please, don’t make me do this.”

  But Olivia wasn’t backing down. “Tell. Me.”

  By now the family was starting to gather around them. “What’s going on?” Harlan asked.

  “I think she knows,” Ma said softly.

  Every pair of eyes went wide, including Olivia’s. “No, I don’t. But you … you all know, don’t you?” She spun on Ma. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? Did I hurt you? Did I … did I get you in trouble? Am I married?!” The last word came out a screech.

  “All of the above, actually,” Samijo said flatly.

  “Whaaaaat?” Olivia screamed.

  “Well,” Calvin said, “there she is again.”

  Olivia looked at him. “What is that supposed to mean?!” Not screeching, but pleading, begging for someone, anyone to tell her the truth.

  Ma waved everyone away from her. “Olivia, Doc Brown said to let your memory come back naturally. We wanted to tell you, but …”

  Olivia stared at her as tears streamed down her face. “But you didn’t. You kept quiet and now …” She sobbed and shook her head. “Does George know? Did you tell him and not me?”

  There was a lot of inspection of shoes before Arlan sheepishly said, “Yes.”

  Olivia’s shoulders slumped. “You told him, yet I still don’t know. I guess it’s a good thing I … oh, never mind.” She looked at each of them. “You should have told me. Especially the part about me being married.” She lifted her skirts and ran for the house as fast as she could, not stopping until she’d flung herself on her bed and started weeping in earnest.

  It was several minutes before she could stop. When she did, her determination returned – what had she been like before? Did she have family anywhere? How had she spent her days? Was she really so bad that they felt they needed to hide her past from her? What had she done? If she was married, where was her wedding ring? For that matter, where was her husband? So many questions, and now she knew there were answers – hidden behind a wall of Weavers.

  She felt like such a fool. She’d trusted these people, and they’d hung her out to dry like this. And George – what had they told him? Whatever they had, it hadn’t been bad enough to turn him away. But maybe it was better that she’d drawn back, even as she knew she’d fallen in love with …

  Olivia wiped her face. “I am in love with George. Really in love.” And without a shadow of a doubt, she knew she had never been in love before. Which, given that she was apparently married, only added to her questions. But could she get any answers?

  Eighteen

  The ride to town was deathly quiet. Olivia rode in the back of the wagon while Samijo and Arlan sat up front, and the Johnsons drove their wagon in front. That meant she could stare at the road and the landscape and seethe undisturbed.

  She was still too angry with the Weavers to ask them anything more, though she planned to once she calmed down. She’d not only fallen in love with George Johnson, but with the Weavers – their farm, their chaotic existence, all of it. She didn’t want to hurt them (again?) by lashing out in a rage. She felt like a starving child in an empty wasteland, who’d finally been fed what she craved. She had them to thank for that, and didn’t want to pay them back evil for good.

  But at the same time, she needed her questions answered. So she’d wait, forgive, calm herself until she was sure she could ask them without rancor. It was the least she could do.

  It also gave her time to think. Who was her husband? Did she really want to know? Why didn’t she seem to love or even miss him? And how could she so easily have fallen in love with George? Not that doing such a foolish thing did her any good, but an explanation would be nice.

  They reached Gunderson’s stage stop, filed in out of the cold and ate supper in silence. Olivia sat with Arlan and Samijo, George with his family. Most of them, anyway – Grandpa sat with Albert and their mutual friend Bob. Grandpa apparently wasn’t speaking to George. Maybe George hadn’t been telling Grandpa things either – after all, she wasn’t the only forgetful one around.

  It was a good thing they were the only ones at the stage stop that night. Otherwise someone might have gotten angry at the old man for all the “noise” he and his invisible friends were making. At one point he even broke into song. Funny thing was, she swore that for a moment she heard more than one voice, accompanied by a rooster’s crow. But that was easy enough to explain – the Gundersons kept chickens.

  “You should try to eat some more,’ Samijo coaxed.

  Olivia fought back a glare and poked at her stew, but she had no appetite. Mostly she was bone tired from the cold wagon ride, from all the tears she’d shed earlier, and from just … thinking. Did she really want to know who she was if she’d been so horrible that they felt they had to hide it from her? Well … it didn’t mean she wanted to go back to that. If anything, she’d have a chance to apologize, make amends.

  She could believe what the doc said, in part. But didn’t it help folks with memory loss to show them familiar things, places and people to help them get their memory back? It still didn’t make sense.

  She pushed her bowl away. “I think I’ll go up now.”

  “So soon?” Samijo asked. “I thought perhaps, um, you might want to talk?”

  “No, not today.” She still needed to calm down a little. No, a lot.

  Samijo reached her hand across the table and held it open to her. “Olivia, please, we can explain.”

  Olivia’s hands remained in her lap as her eyes met Samijo’s. “I imagine you can. But I’m not ready to hear what you have to say. Not yet.”

  Samijo slowly pulled her hand back. “I understand. But when you’re ready, we will be too. I promise.”

  “Thank you. I’ll hold you to that.” Olivia smiled stiffly, stood and headed for the stairs. The Johnsons watched her go. Bernice smiled at her. But she kept going. They respected her desires and left her alone. That was a good sign, she decided.

  She got ready for bed, crawled beneath the blankets and stared at the ceiling. How her life took such a turn, she had no idea. Perhaps she’d feel calm enough to ask tomorrow. Tonight she wanted to be alone, avoid company that would only stir emotions in her she didn’t understand, or want.

  She turned onto her side as George slipped into her thoughts. She smiled, but it soon faded. Tears came easily when she thought of him now. Too easily. So this was what it was like to have a broken heart. Had she ever had one before? She doubted it – this felt new too intense. Which confirmed once again that she’d never been in love before.

  Morning came too soon, and soon they were on the road again, heading for Nowhere. As on the previous day the Johnsons’ wagon was ahead of
them, so she didn’t have to see George. In fact, when she came downstairs she’d spied him near the door leading outside, and waited until he left before entering the dining area.

  The morning passed quickly and Olivia got by without having to converse. Maybe she’d feel more like talking on the trip home. Or maybe not.

  “Whoa!” Arlan brought the wagon to a stop outside Quinn’s Mercantile.

  Olivia gingerly stood, her back aching from the long, bumpy ride. When she turned, she noticed the Johnson wagon had also stopped. They must need a few supplies before continuing home. Great. That meant …

  “Olivia,” George said as he approached the Weavers’ wagon. “Can I help you down?”

  She noticed Arlan and Samijo speaking with Bernice and Warren next to their wagon. It seemed she had no choice. “Fine,” she mumbled.

  He reached up. Olivia stared at his hands a moment and imagined all the fine furniture they’d made over the years. The thought dissipated as they closed around her waist and lifted her from the wagon bed. Only when her feet touched the ground did she look at him. “There,” he said.

  Olivia continued to look at him. This would be goodbye. And she wanted to get it over with. “George, you can let go of me now.”

  He looked at her, drawing closer as if for a kiss.

  “George!”

  He let go and stepped away in surprise. She’d never snapped at him like that. “Olivia …”

  “Don’t. This is hard enough.”

  He smiled. “It is?”

  She looked at her shoes. “Of course it is,’ she whispered.

  He closed the distance between them. “I thought things were one-sided.”

  She shook her head. “You thought wrong.”

  He was so close they were almost touching. It was very improper. She didn’t care. This was goodbye regardless. “Olivia, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you –”

  “Did you know I was married?”

  He sighed. “Yes. Well, I was told you were. I don’t know if you still are …” He trailed off, then added, “And by the time I knew, I’d already fallen in love with you.”

  “There’s nothing to be done about it. We’ll just … have to see. I don’t know.”

  He sighed again and took her hand. “Warren’s getting a few things, then we’re off.”

  She nodded, still not looking at him. She couldn’t bear to.

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Goodbye, Olivia. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

  Tears filled her eyes and she did nothing to stop them. This was tragic, there was no other word for it. But falling in love wasn’t safe in this case. It just seemed to happen … to both of them. “Goodbye, George,” she squeaked. “Have a wonderful life …”

  He continued to stand there as the others filed into the mercantile. None of them did anything to stop their parting or interfere. “You should come inside where it’s warm,” he suggested.

  “I will in a few minutes. I … have an errand to run.”

  “Errand?”

  “None of your concern. Just something I must get done.”

  “Very well.” He let go of her hand. “Good luck, Olivia. I hope you find everything you’re looking for.” Finally, finally he walked away.

  “So do I,” Olivia whispered to herself. She turned and hurried down the street, not daring to look back.

  * * *

  “You mean you work here?” Olivia asked in shock.

  “Only three days a week,” Nellie said. “Hank is ever so grateful, and it gives me something to do.”

  Olivia fought the urge to pull her own hair out. So much for getting a job at the restaurant if Nellie was volunteering her time. Or was she? “Are you getting paid?”

  “Of course. Not that I need it, mind, but the worker is worthy of his wages, as the Good Book says –”

  “Nellie!” someone called across the dining room. “More coffee!”

  “All right, I’m coming!” she called back. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to it.”

  Olivia nodded. Now what was she going to do?

  “Young lady?”

  Olivia turned to find Hank himself behind her. “Hello.”

  “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Mrs. Davis.”

  “Yes, it seems the two of you get along quite well.”

  “Most of the time. Wasn’t always so. I understand you’re looking for work.”

  Her face brightened. “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t need another waitress, not with Nellie helping me out, but I could use a cook.”

  Olivia’s face fell. “Oh. I’m afraid I don’t cook much,” she sighed. This day was just getting worse and worse.

  “Well, do you think you could learn?”

  Her face lit up again. “Oh yes, of course!”

  “See, the woman who’s been helping me out is moving to Montana Territory. Has relatives there. She just comes in a few days a week, but I’m getting older and I’m tired of cooking everything. I want to hire someone on that can take over eventually.”

  “Really? You know I’m staying with the Weavers, don’t you?”

  “Everyone in town knows. It’s one of the reasons I’m asking you. Those Weaver women are excellent cooks. If you’re willing to learn from them, then I’ll hire you.”

  “Oh, Mr. …”

  “Just Hank. I got one of those names no one can pronounce.”

  She gave him a big hug, not caring what his name was. “Thank you!”

  When she stepped away he was blushing. “Um, er, how about we give it a few months? Mrs. Latsch won’t be leaving until the end of March – doesn’t want to travel through the Rockies in the dead of winter.”

  “I can understand that,” Olivia said with excitement.

  “You’re sure, then?”

  “Oh yes!”

  “Fine. I’ll let Mrs. Latsch know. She’ll write her cousin or whoever it is in Cutter’s Creek and tell them when she’s coming. In the meantime, pay attention to what those Weaver women do with their cooking and baking. Especially that Eyetalian wife of Calvin’s.”

  “I’m not sure I can learn to cook as well as she can in only three months, but I’ll certainly try.”

  “You do and you could get a job as a cook anywhere.”

  They worked out the details, and within minutes Olivia was on her way back to Quinn’s Mercantile. By the time she reached it George and his family were gone, which was both a mercy and heart-wrenching. She stopped in the middle of the street and stared at the empty space where their wagon had been.

  “They left a few minutes ago,” Samijo said.

  Olivia jumped. “Where did you come from?”

  She pointed at a shop across the street. “Bernice was disappointed she didn’t get to say goodbye.”

  Olivia rapped her knuckles against her forehead. “How did I forget Bernice and the others? They must think I’m terrible.”

  “I think they understand.”

  Olivia said nothing. She still wasn’t ready to dive into that topic.

  “What were you talking to Hank about?” Samijo asked.

  Olivia smiled. “He wants to hire me. So long as I learn how to cook.”

  Samijo said nothing, just nodded.

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” Olivia asked.

  “Don’t you think you ought to find out a few things first?”

  “Yes. And I plan to – just … not today. One tragedy at a time.”

  “All of us understand, Olivia,” Samijo said gently. “We’re only trying to help you.”

  Olivia half-smiled. “Thank you for that. But please, don’t help me by not telling me things?”

  “Point taken. I apologize.”

  “And I forgive you – all of you. I know you were looking out for me.”

  Samijo smiled. “Whenever you’re ready to ask questions, we’ll answer them, I promise.”

  They went into the mercantile to get warm and settle
in for the evening. Olivia did her best to put on a happy face and interact, but it was hard. Her mind kept wandering to George – and wanting to stay there. What was he thinking? Would he miss her? How long would it take before he forgot? “I won’t forget you,” she whispered, then gasped. He hadn’t left her an address! How could she write to him if she wanted to? No, wait – of course the Weavers would have it, and Warren and Bernice would. No need to panic …

  “Something wrong?” Charlotte asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” Olivia insisted. “Just realized what I thought was a problem wasn’t.”

  Charlotte turned back to Arlan. “It’s such a hard trip to make in the winter. Do you think you’ll get to the Valentine’s dance?”

  “Ya know we’ll try,” he chuckled. “Be awful hard to keep Calvin and his bunch away. They love the dances.”

  “Oh, I do wish the whole family could come for Valentine’s this year,” Aunt Betsy said, “but I know the trip is hard on the little ones. Whose turn is it to stay behind?”

  “Benjamin and Charity’s.” Arlan glanced at Olivia. “You’ll like the Valentine’s dance. It’s even more fun than the Christmas dance.”

  Thoughts of the Christmas dance made Olivia’s heart sink, the muscles in her neck tense and her stomach knot. She would never forget that dance – the moment she first laid eyes on George … “Well, we’ll see,” she replied.

  “My heavens, but it’s getting late,” Betsy said. “You three had better get to bed if you want to leave first thing in the morning.”

  Arlan stretched and yawned. “Not first thing – there’s somethin’ I need to speak to Spencer ‘bout ‘fore we go. He gets to the sheriff’s office pretty early, as I recall.”

  “Yes, usually,” his aunt agreed. “Will you be trying to make it back in one day?”

  “I’d spend another night at Gunderson’s if I were you,” said his uncle. “Especially if it starts snowing again.”

  “We’ll see what the weather does and go from there,” Arlan said. “First I have my business to take care of.”

  That night, Olivia found it hard to sleep and tossed and turned on her cot. The Quinns only had one guest room, so she had to share it with Arlan and Samijo. She listened to Arlan’s soft snores and wondered what kind of business Arlan had with the sheriff, then pushed the thought aside.